


Hearthstones

by Catzgirl



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Prequel, Rating for later chapters, back on her bullshit that is, ding dong guess who's back, to a fic i haven't written yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 03:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzgirl/pseuds/Catzgirl
Summary: Caleb needs help getting on his feet.





	Hearthstones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [losebetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/losebetter/gifts).



> this is 100% losebetter's fault and I take no responsibility for this. I was trying to write a nice widomauk band au in peace and mentioned there'd be established fjorssik and he ran away with it.  
> Rated for later chapters!

He meets the man that changes his life on a completely ordinary day.

Caleb tends to stick to a few regular haunts. He is not an impressive figure: he has no wares to busk, he bears no signs, he does not even wear his old uniform. He is just a dirty, greasy hobo hunched into the warmth of his coat, a shallow cardboard pan at his feet for the coins that people toss at him.

He does not beg, so he is not a beggar. The distinction is all the difference.

People generally do not speak to him, and that's how Caleb prefers it. A woman here or a man there will drop change into his tray, but they do not spare him a glance for the trouble.

He would make more if he were like Nott, if he were willing to make a spectacle of it.

He would make the most if he attempted to find a job.

(But what's the point, he wonders, for a man like him? For a man that's done the things he's done, that's seen what he's seen? He would only be taking someone else's place, someone better and more deserving than the wretch he's become.)

He sticks to a few favored haunts and people that walk by daily get to know the shape of him through his coat, and they are more likely to throw change at him at all if only in a bizarre petition to make him go away.

Fjord is a new comer on this route, when Caleb meets him.

It's as if—and this is purely in hindsight, unreliable as it is—but truly as if something whispers to him  _wait. Watch_.and that's one of the more benign whispers he's ever gotten, so he sees no reason not to lift his head and look around.

Nothing remarkable, really. A green-skinned half-orc strolls out of the café with a coffee in one hand and cigarette in the other. Tall, broad in the shoulders, thick in the chest and waist. New. The thing that stands out the most is that Caleb's never seen him before and this is one of his favorite haunts, he knows most of the people that pass by him without seeing him. Well, and there are worse things than for an attractive strangers to pass though Caleb's line of sight. _wait. Watch_ something whispers, so Caleb watches him pat the pockets of his jeans, sees him mouth  _no, nope,_ _nuhuh_ _, fuck._  The half-orc looks around, eyes the red-rimmed of the truly sleep deprived—hence the coffee, Caleb presumes, and wonders what all the fuss is about. Supposes that since he will not ever know that it's best to put it out of his mind.

(People don't notice the homeless. Not unless they make a spectacle of themselves. Caleb has been too tired to bother for much longer than he's been on the streets.)

Caleb sinks into the high collar of his coat, lets his eyes close—just for a minute—lets his threadbare scarf slip up to rub at the frozen and freezing droplets at his nose, and listens to the rhythm of the city. He stays firmly in his body, for the record, which is an achievement not worth celebrating but an achievement all the same.

"'Scuse me sir," and his eyes snap open, "You wouldn't happen to have a lighter on ya by any chance?" And it's—it's the half orc man, coffee in one hand and cigarette in the other, smiling and shrugging the universal What Can You Do! at him as pedestrians crowd behind and past him.

He's a big man. He takes up nearly half the sidewalk and doesn't seem inclined to move, yellow eyes trained on Caleb with a disarmingly small smile.

Caleb blinks. Looks around. Points at himself and says, "Er, me, you mean?" All at once he tries to look less like a fucking wizard hobo; he tugs his collar down and wipes his nose and face with one sleeve, but he cannot hide his befuddlement.

"Naw," the man says, "The fella behind—yes you!" and he seems to think he's funny, or maybe he's just trying for funny? Or maybe he's really making a joke at Caleb's expense.

He lets his eyes go squinted and mean, sputters, "Are you—? Just because I'm—!" He's working his way to full indigence when the half-orc's face goes slack with surprise and he raises the hand with the cigarette palm up, says, "No no I was!! Shit, I'm sorry, I've got a hell of a humor on me," and Caleb is still suspicious until the man slips the cigarette between his teeth and extends the freed hand, says, "I'm Fjord, by the way, nice to meetcha, bud. I, ah, I really do just needa light if ya got one," and Caleb—

Fuck, he's not going to  _shake hands_  right after he's wiped his fucking nose. Settles instead of glancing between the offending hand and Fjord's eyes, waits for Fjord to get the hint.

"I am Caleb," he says, because that's what people do isn't it? "Look, just, come here  _ja_?" and Fjord is all smiles as he leans in, lets Caleb cup his hands gently around the cigarette.

(Even all these years later it's just a flick away. It's in his veins, forever, keening and knelling to be let out. He thought he'd left it all, hadn't he? Hadn't he left it all an ocean away? He'd burned for days and yet here the fire is.

 _It's always_ _going to be in you_  something whispers, and he wants to scratch at his arms, at his legs, at his neck, frowns at the itch and irritation under his skin,  _this isn't something you can run from_.)

The very tip of his index finger glows red hot as he pushes it to the tip of Fjord's cigarette. Fjord puffs on it once, twice, and it's not until Caleb is sure the fire has caught that he leans back and away and goes back to shrinking into his coat.

Fjord, apparently, is in need of a friend and-slash-or is in the habit of misdirecting his energy.

"My boyfriend does that," he says, and his yellow eyes are not quite glowing and his smile is just as friendly, but Caleb?

There are alarms going off in his head that scream  _danger, danger, what does he want_ , because he's been homeless for a long time. He's been on the streets for a lot of his life and if there's one thing he knows it's that people- especially attractive people-  _hate_  the homeless, people  _do not_  speak or even look at the aimless vagrants that dot their city streets.

So what's the game here? What's the trick?

"Well, not exactly like that," Fjord continues, his ears flicking back in contrition, "He's dragonborn so it's not—you know, it's not really magic, he's just Like That I guess. D'ya wanna see a picture of us?" He doesn't wait for a response, is pulling out his phone and flicking through a veritable gallery of images: Fjord and a white scaled dragonborn man, just as tall and attractive, a bit on the thicker side. A few of them just standing side by side, squeezed into the frame. A clawed-finger swipes past a few that are of kissing- domestic, tranquil little things. Fjord gives a steady stream of chatter, "And this is from last weekend, we were both actually off work and got to go upstate, do some skiing, I was shit at it but Wes is good at  _errething_ he does, it's such bullshit-"

( _What does he want—_ stop, he's just being nice— _people aren't nice you know that—oh you really think that don't you—_ sometimes people are— _so naïve, look at you, everything's that's happened—everything's that happened and still so stupid—_ I am not stupid- _no, even worse, you are- you're so naive, you're so fucking stupid-_ he is a nice man— _he_ _wants_ _something—he wants something from you—_ no he doesn't— _no one wants nothing you idiot—wait, watch_ )

They're cute photos, objectively. Subjectively, Caleb stands up, leaves his meager little pile of change at his feet. "I have to go," he says, "Right now, I have somewhere to be," and he wraps his coat around himself, leaves the pittance sum he's collected for the day, and steps off the sidewalk to weave in between gridlock traffic.

Somewhere behind him he can hear, " _Wait!_ " and " _I'm sorry!_ " and " _Aw_ _godsdamnit_ " but he doesn't dare look back. He tends to stick to the same few haunts but this one? This is off the list, he will not come back here if he can at all help it.

People never speak to the homeless. They barely even  _see_  the homeless. He doesn't know what Fjord  _really_  wanted but he knows that nothing comes freely and he is already not even on his feet, he cannot afford any distractions or setbacks if he wants to help Nott have a better life, and he especially does not trust that there are people in the world that are just  _like that_ , that anyone could see him and think anything other than " _ugh_."

Caleb gets to the other side of the street, pulls his scarf up to cover his lower face, sets himself against the wind and walks.

* * *

 

> **Fjord:**   _I'm just, I'm really worried. He was so skinny, babe!_  
>  **Fjord:** _He's been out here for a while I think_    
>  **Wessik** **:** _Then take him some food or something_  
>  **Wessik:** _duh_    
>  **Fjord:** _I don't know if I'll see him again. As soon as I mentioned you_    
>  **Fjord:** _I_ _think it spooked him off, idk_    
>  **Wessik** **:** _Really, that's what scared him?_  
>  **Wessik** _ **:** The gay thing?_  
>  **Wessik _:_  ** _Not the strange half-orc talking to him_ _outta_   _nowhere?_  
>  **Wessik _:_  ** _Honey..._    
>  **Fjord:** _…. fuck_    
>  **Wessik** **:** _I'll pack up some leftove_ _rs, take it by the tent city_  
>  **Wessik _:_  ** _like, in a couple days_    
>  **Wessik** **:** _if it was really the gay thing then make sure you get my good_ _tupperware_ _back_    
>  **Fjord:** _fuck you._    
>  **Wessik** **:** _on your way or what?_    
>  **Fjord:** _yeah see you soon xx_

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr at fenesvir.tumblr.com  
> yell at losebetter at losebetter.tumblr.com  
> A ton of this was in collab with losebetter and our chat logs of just yelling at each other.  
> If you find anything funky, this is not beta read and I'd much appreciate a heads up about it! I hate going back months later and finding typos, haha, and yet I am only one mortal lady.


End file.
